


Sweetness

by saddle_tramp



Series: Here There Be Dragons [4]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Dialogue, Episode Related, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Mildly Dubious Consent, Random & Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 15:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13297854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddle_tramp/pseuds/saddle_tramp
Summary: Sometimes Flint really wishes he could just quietly disappear, and lucky for him he has someone to help with that.In my head this is part of the'Here There Be Dragons''verse, but it could easily stand alone.





	Sweetness

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching season one because there was nothing on tv, and the scene in _'IV'_ of Flint and Miranda having sex really bugged me, as it always has. I finished the season and the little bunny it gave me was still there poking and kicking at me, so I started writing and this is what I got.
> 
> And yeah, I don't even know on the title to this. I tried to come up with something else for over half an hour before I gave up and went with it. lol

~*~*~*~

 

Flint had been upset when he found Miranda reading _'Meditations'_ to Guthrie, but still he let her talk him out of his clothes and into her bed afterwards when she asked it of him. She wasn't free to see her usual bed partners with Guthrie there, which was his fault, so it didn't particularly surprise him that she decided it was his job to fix the fact she was feeling neglected. He didn't really want it the way that she did, his blood didn't quicken at the sight of her like hers did for him, but with a little effort he could please her, he knew, and he had always tried not to refuse her when she asked. He owed it to Thomas.

That morning Miranda was very different from what he had become accustomed to from her, though. She had used her hand and her mouth to get him ready for her, which wasn't unusual, but she did it in such a way that it left him feeling like she barely even knew he was there. That feeling only grew stronger when she settled astride his hips to ride him, moving his hands to the headboard and then seeking her own pleasure with no real attempt to engage with him at all. When she was done she didn't even try to make sure he finished as well, instead collapsing forward to lay there on his chest, silent and still except for breathing hard. She had made it so plain she didn't want him to touch her that he hesitated before he moved his hands to her shoulders, staring up at the ceiling while she rested on him and wondering why she had bothered to involve him at all.

Miranda didn't even look at him when she finally moved away, leaving the bed to walk behind the screen in one corner of the room as she said, "I had Caleb move your things in here while Guthrie is staying in your room. There's a clean shirt in your trunk. The one you had on smells as if you soaked it in the sea and then wore it for a _week_."

Flint sighed and laid there staring up at the ceiling a moment longer, listening to the quiet sounds of her washing up, then abruptly rolled off the bed and moved to grab his breeches and put them on. He could hardly believe she was going to pretend nothing unusual had happened, but he couldn't make himself say anything. He knew she was unhappy and that having Guthrie there didn't help, and he didn't want to make it worse for her even though she seemed not to feel the same way about hurting him. He made short work of getting dressed, putting on a clean shirt as he was told, and he was moving towards the door with his boots in hand when she stepped from behind the screen.

"James," Miranda said quietly, making him stop to look at her. "Wait."

"Alright," Flint murmured, moving over to sit on his trunk near her wardrobe. He busied himself with putting on his boots while she pulled on one of her dressing gowns, a loose billowy thing she often wore when it was just the two of them. He looked up when he finished with his boots, glancing at her to find her ignoring him completely as she tied the front of her gown. He looked down again, jaw clenching as he noticed _'Meditations'_ laying on the table next to him and remembered why he had wanted to talk to her privately to begin with. Looking at the book and remembering how he had felt when he heard her reading it to Guthrie made the way she had treated him afterwards hurt even more, and he looked down at the floor again as he debated just walking out anyway.

"Will you be staying long?" Miranda asked suddenly.

Flint ran a hand over his hair, not looking at her. He had intended to stay all day to spend a little time with her and relax, possibly discuss the book he had brought her last time or whatever else she might be reading. He didn't consciously decide before he found himself saying, "I have to get back." He could feel her staring at him, but he didn't look at her as he leaned down to resettle the ankle of his boot, which had folded a bit when he stepped into it.

"If you're upset with me, I'd appreciate you saying so," Miranda said a bit sharply.

Flint looked towards her without looking at her face and then looked back down at his boot, brushing at an imaginary bit of dirt as he said quietly, "You know why I'm upset." She knew that sex with her often left him feeling sad and very alone, and that particular round had left him feeling even worse than usual.

"Because I read to him?" Miranda asked after a moment.

That wasn't all that had upset Flint since he walked into the house or even what had upset him the most, but the reminder sparked his unhappiness and pain into sudden anger. It was much easier for him to be angry at her about sharing the book with Guthrie, _his_ book, than the way she had treated him afterwards. "There's a whole shelf full of books! Why did you have to read him that one?"

Miranda didn't look at him, but he could see how angry she was as she said cuttingly, "Perhaps because I am no longer willing to bury it on a shelf and pretend it has no meaning for _me_." Flint stood abruptly, staring at her and almost shaking with anger as she met his gaze. "That book is something I shared with Thomas."

Flint looked down, his gaze going to the portrait near him and finding Thomas' likeness, so unlike the vibrant man he remembered and yet somehow still enough like him to make the pain of losing him suddenly much worse whenever Flint saw it.

"I just... missed it," Miranda said more quietly, her anger seeming to have faded into sadness. Flint glanced at her and saw she was looking at the portrait too as she added, "Our life then. When he was alive." She lifted her gaze back to Flint's face and he met her gaze. "I can feel myself forgetting it and I don't _want_ to forget it. This place, this life that we've been living here. It doesn't feel like _living_ anymore." She hesitated, then added, "I can't be alone in feeling this way." Flint stared at her for a long moment, watching as a tear slid down her cheek and then she said softly, "Some part of you must feel it too."

Flint felt his anger die away, leaving only the pain behind as he walked over to her and reached for her, cupping her face in his hands as he murmured, "Things will get better here. I promise you they will." He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, eyes closed as he wished again that Thomas was alive. Thomas would hate seeing them like this, knowing they were hurting each other, but it seemed like they seldom did anything else anymore even though neither of them truly wanted the other one to be hurt. What had worked so perfectly and effortlessly when it was the three of them was falling apart without Thomas to be a buffer between he and Miranda, so beloved by them both that it had made loving each other easy too.

Flint released her after a few moments and turned away, grabbing his coat and sword as he left the room without looking at her. He didn't want to see her crying, but he was equally unwilling to have her see the pain in his own eyes. Caleb wasn't in the hall and Guthrie's door was closed, and he was grateful not to be forced to talk to either of them as he walked outside. He quickly crossed the yard to the pen that held Miranda's bay gelding and the tall black stallion he often rode when he had need of a horse, a spirited but well-trained mount by the unlikely name of Sweetness.

Sweetness belonged to Richard Guthrie technically, but Flint was fairly certain Guthrie no longer remembered that the horse was his at all, if he had ever noticed. Sweetness was out of a team of matched black carriage horses that Guthrie had swindled out of one of the landholders on the far side of the island, a mare and stallion Guthrie had used both for breeding and to pull his wagon. After Guthrie left Nassau for Harbor Island, the team had been sold to work on the Underhill plantation in the interior, leaving Sweetness behind in the stable with Eleanor's personal mount at the time, a quiet grey mare from Spanish bloodlines she had ridden since she was a child.

Sweetness had been just a colt then, Eleanor's pet that she boasted was the sweetest horse alive, which was how he got the name. Eleanor had trained him when he was old enough but soon after she began taking over more of her father's business in Nassau and lost interest in riding. Sweetness had first become a pet again, visited by Eleanor most days to feed him treats, but eventually she grew too busy even for that and the stallion was quietly shuffled off out of sight at the edge of town. Sweetness had sired quite a few foals on the island since then and the quality he threw was good enough that the stud fees paid for his feed and hay, but Eleanor hardly ever bothered to visit him anymore. He spent his days in a paddock near the beach with Eleanor's grey mare, usually with another mare or two that had been brought to him for breeding, but for a few years he had been ignored by almost everyone except for the boy who was paid to tend to him.

Flint hadn't known anything about Sweetness the first time he saw the stallion. He had been walking alone along the beach late one night and spotted the stallion standing at his paddock fence on a slight rise above the beach. He had stopped to look at the horse, surprised, and then a moment later Sweetness had noticed him and whinnied to him. Flint had walked up to the fence to get a better look and the stallion had greeted him like they were old friends, nuzzling his cheek with a low nicker. He had never spent a lot of time with horses before, usually only riding when he needed to cover a lot of ground quickly, but he had spent a long while with Sweetness that night and was surprised to realize how much he enjoyed the simple quiet pleasure of stroking the horse's sleek hide and breathing in the scents of sea, horse, and hay mingled together.

Flint had made a habit of walking down the beach to visit the horse on nights he couldn't sleep after that, but he still had no idea who owned the stallion the evening he decided he needed to truly get away from everything for a while. He had put some jerked meat and cheese into the pocket of his coat with a flask of rum on the other side and then walked down the beach to the stallion's paddock, leaving a few coins in the small building adjoining the pasture along with a short note saying he would bring the horse back safely soon. He had swung up on Sweetness not even completely sure the stallion was trained to ride, but he turned out to be very well-behaved and soon they were cantering away down the beach, often splashing through the edge of the water.

Flint had intended to only be gone overnight that first time, but it was so quiet and peaceful in the tiny cove he found far down the beach that he ended up staying the next day too with only the horse for company. There was a letter from Eleanor waiting in the building when he returned, telling him that if he had left the slightest mark on her Sweetness she'd have him flogged, and that had been how he learned the young stallion's unlikely name and who owned him.

Flint had ridden to Eleanor's tavern immediately to let her see the horse and allay her fears, and she had been so pleased by his praise of the stallion's quality and his obvious affection for the horse that she had offered to let Flint borrow the stallion whenever he liked. He had made a habit of spending time with the stallion when he could ever since, often feeding him bits of bread or dried fruit, and when he felt the need to just disappear a few hours, it was Sweetness that carried him away from the pressures of his life. He and the horse had an understanding, and he had spent many hours sitting on a beach, dozing or reading or even just watching the ocean while the stallion grazed on the dunes nearby.

Sweetness looked up from the rack of hay when Flint reached him, still chewing as he let out a low nicker, and Flint patted the stallion's shoulder as he said, "Come on, my friend. Time to go." He put his hand under the stallion's chin and stepped away, completely unsurprised when Sweetness allowed himself to be led to the gate and out into the yard even though there was no restraint at all on the horse.

Flint closed the gate and walked over to where he'd left the stallion's saddle and bridle on the tie rail, turning to walk back to Sweetness and then smiling when he saw the stallion had followed him and was watching interestedly only a step away. "You're ready to get back to the sea, hmm?" He moved to the stallion's shoulder and flipped the saddle cloth on the stallion's back, then followed it with the saddle as he added, "I don't blame you, Sweet. I'm sure you miss your Jade and that pretty golden mare you had visiting." He dropped the girth that was draped over the saddle on the far side of the horse so he could pull it under the stallion's barrel. "I wouldn't mind living a life so easy, spending my days in a home overlooking the ocean with someone I love."

Sweetness stood still until the girth was tight and the stirrups were moved down into place and then turned his head towards Flint expectantly, nuzzling at his cheek. Flint chuckled very softly and pulled the bridle off of his shoulder, moving to put it on the stallion. "One day I hope to convince your mistress to sell you to me, you know. You're the best horse I've ever known, not that I knew many."

Sweetness played with the bit, tossing his head, and Flint smiled as he flipped the reins over the stallion's neck and then swung up into the saddle. The stallion arched his neck, turning his head slightly to look back at Flint, and he patted the stallion's neck as he said, "But for now, old friend, it's time we both got back to work. Let's go home." He made a soft kissing noise as he moved his hand forward with the reins, giving the stallion his head, and Sweetness leapt into a gallop towards the road.

Neither of them noticed Miranda watching from the nearby front porch of the house, still wrapped in her loose dressing gown. She had followed Flint outside intending to go apologize for how she acted, but when she saw him talking to the horse while he saddled it, she had stopped to listen instead. She hadn't heard all that had been said, some of it was too quiet, but she heard enough to make her stare after him in surprise as he rode away, wondering if perhaps the James she once loved wasn't dead and gone after all.

 

~ End


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